


Her Phoenix Guardian

by PaulAtreides



Category: Mulan (2020), Mulan - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite, Canon Universe, F/F, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaulAtreides/pseuds/PaulAtreides
Summary: On the way to the army camp, Mulan rescues an injured Xian Lang. How would Mulan and Xian Lang’s relationship be different if they had met - and bonded - early on? A retelling of the movie’s events from Xian Lang’s perspective.
Relationships: Fa Mulan | Hua Mulan/Xian Lang (Disney)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 182





	Her Phoenix Guardian

**Author's Note:**

> When I watched the new Mulan movie, I was struck by how emotionally-charged every scene with Mulan and Xian Lang was. It was like those scenes belonged in a completely different movie! Then I discovered there was supposed to have been a scene at the beginning of the movie where Mulan rescues Xian Lang from a tree – and suddenly everything made so much more sense. This is my take on that rescue scene, and the story that follows. (See the end for notes and citations)

This is not how I thought I would die.

I do not spend much time contemplating death, but when my mind turns to such matters, I would envision meeting my end on a battlefield, in the mercenary service of some greedy despot. While my powers are strong enough to devastate most armies, anything can happen in battle – one wrong move would be the end of me. Not a heroic death – I had long given up such aspirations – but an acceptable one.

Or I could be executed, like so many of my kind before me. This I thought less probable, since escaping captivity is easy for a shapeshifter like me. And my powers are simply too valuable to kings, usurpers and anyone who seeks to dominate men through brute force. Though I am shunned by society, I have never lacked for secure employment.

Not once did I contemplate dying as a hawk, my wings bent at hideous angles, my body prostrate on the branch of a tree I had just crashed into minutes ago.

It had all happened so quickly – I was on a reconnaissance mission of one of the Emperor’s military outposts. I was in hawk form, sizing up the garrison’s strength and trying to decide if I should just eliminate the soldiers myself or wait for backup from Bori Khan’s troops – when the skies abruptly darkened and the wind began to howl. A sandstorm was coming. Fortune had smiled on me – the sandstorm would provide enough cover for me to take out the soldiers. I swooped down to the barracks, squeezed through a hole in the thatch and settled on the rafters, watching the men file in to take shelter from the storm.

I heard the knife fall to the floor before I felt the pain. Sharp, searing pain, the kind I had not felt in a long time. My right wing was bent at an awkward angle, and blood was slowly seeping out, turning my feathers an ugly shade of red.

I heard a whoop from below. “Damn, Wei, that was a really good shot!”

A wiry man with beady eyes picked up the knife, his thin lips twisting into a satisfied smile. He said nothing to his comrades, but raised his arm to throw the knife again.

_You fool,_ I cursed myself. How could I be so stupid? I had but a split second to weigh my options. No point returning to human form – with my injured arm, I could not take on the twenty men in the barracks by myself. Yet I could not fly properly in my condition. But the sandstorm raging outside would at least carry me away from the men, although I had no idea if I would survive it.

So I summoned every last ounce of my strength, made for the hole in the thatch from which I had come – then hurled myself into the sandstorm.

* * *

And that is how I come to be atop a tree, waiting for death.

But after the shock of slamming into the tree wears off, I realise I may yet live. My injured right wing seems to be trapped in a crevice of the tree’s trunk, which is holding me secure for now despite the gale’s force. But I am in agony as my wing is now twisted completely out of shape, and I almost wish I am still flying blind in the storm. The memory of the last few hours only serves to rub salt in my wounds. How could I not have seen the knife flying towards me? _You careless fool._ I must be growing overconfident after the string of victories on the Silk Road in the last few weeks.

Well, at least there is no one here to witness my shame. Once the sandstorm passes, I will change back into my human form and treat the wound. It should heal quickly enough.

I shut my eyes and try to sleep.

* * *

“Shh, don’t be afraid. I’m here to help you.”

I reflexively snap at the hand that attempts to touch me. The abrupt movement sends pain shooting up my wing, and an involuntary rasp of pain escapes me. The hand quickly withdraws, and a boy peers out at me, from his perch on the opposite branch.

No, wait. I look the human before me in the eye. Clad in imperial armour, armed with a sword, hair tied up under a helmet – but this is no soldier of the Empire; she is just a girl.

Well, is this day not full of surprises?

The girl extends her arm again. “Shh, shh,” she says, and I know she is trying to help me. I consider turning back into human form and chasing her off – but in my weakened state, some help would not be unwelcome. And I am intrigued by her disguise. Why is a girl dressed as an Imperial soldier? There is no way she can pass for a man – how could she, with her big, almond-shaped eyes, long lashes, slender eyebrows, delicate rosebud lips and skin the colour of freshly ripe peaches?

I can sense something else too – a feeling both strange and familiar – but in my addled state, I cannot make sense of it.

So I allow the girl to prise my wing out of the trunk’s crevice, which she does slowly and gingerly, as though she knows how much it hurts me. After some minutes she succeeds, and I hear a sharp intake of breath.

“Your wing is broken, you poor thing!”

She carries me down the tree and sets me on the ground to inspect my wounds. I am on high alert now – the last thing I want is to be taken into town for treatment. But she goes to her horse, rummages in her saddlebags, and returns with some bandages and a poultice.

“I’ve rescued some birds before, but never one as big as you. But I think I can patch you up.”

She proceeds to bandage my wing with surprising deftness. Her touch is gentle, but I cannot stop myself from tensing under her fingers, so unused am I to this sensation.

“I’ll have to take you with me for the rest of my journey. The camp is a week’s ride away – you should be feeling better by then.”

She scoops me up and attempts to place me in one of her saddlebags – but I refuse to ride in one of those! I screech and flap my good wing in protest. She thinks for a bit – then extends her arm. I immediately understand what she means, and perch on top of her gauntlet.

She laughs, and raises her arm so she can look me in the eye. “I feel like you really understand me, hawk. I think we’re going to get on very well together!”

* * *

Her name is Hua Mulan, and she is going to fight for the Emperor in place of her father.

She is very chatty; I have no idea why she chatters away so to a dumb bird, but she seems glad to have a listener, and I find her tales amusing enough. She tells me about her life growing up in the village, about how her parents want her to settle down with a nice boy – but is that all there is to life, she wonders. I hear about her ill-fated run-in with the local matchmaker and must fight back laughter – of course, it would just come out as a screech.

Most of all, I listen to her anxieties about enlisting in the army, in the guise of a boy.

“I don’t know how I’m going to fool all of them. I really didn’t think this through.”

No, you clearly did not.

“They have communal showers in the army, don’t they? How am I going to avoid being found out then?”

You could avoid taking showers, but I am not sure you could live with that, you silly girl.

“I need to pick a boy’s name for myself. What should I pick? Hua Guang, Hua Jian, Hua Lei, Hua Jun…I think Hua Jun has a nice ring to it. What do you think?”

The Prince of Flowers? You certainly think highly of yourself.

“My voice is too high-pitched. I need to speak in a deeper voice.” She clears her throat and says, “Do I sound like a man?” in the deepest voice she can muster.

I cannot help myself – I laugh out loud, but of course it comes out as a hawk’s screech.

She giggles, which prompts me to laugh (screech) again. “Don’t laugh! I’m being serious here!” 

* * *

On our first night together, Mulan sets up camp next to a stream in a rocky mountain pass. I watch her as she slowly removes her armour, carefully setting each piece down as though they are priceless treasures. She washes her face and neck, then sits down next to me by the campfire. She absently strokes my back; I tense up instinctively, but force myself to relax.

“You and Black Wind may be the last living creatures to see the real me,” she says softly. She is quiet now, gazing pensively into the flames. Her skin is a warm shade of rose gold; her wavy black tresses, still damp from her wash, glistens in the firelight. She is taller than most girls, but still slight of build; I cannot imagine her wielding the sword that lies next to her.

Looking at her now, I fight the urge to revert to human form to give her a good talking-to. What a fool she is for taking her father’s place – she will not last five minutes on a battlefield. Foolish, thoughtless bravery does not impress me. A true warrior knows her strengths and weaknesses, knows when to charge forward and when to withdraw. I have never subscribed to the belief that warriors must blindly lay their lives down for their liege – no cause is ever worth dying for.

But tonight I am tired, and I do not want to reveal myself to her just yet. I can see she is exhausted too; presently she lies down by the fire, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

She opens her eyes and smiles at me. “Come closer,” she says. I hesitate – does she really think I understand her?

“This sounds crazy, but I know you understand me. Perhaps you are my phoenix guardian, sent by my ancestors to watch over me.”

A hawk cannot roll its eyes, but I would if I could. Now she thinks I am a god? This poor, gullible child.

“I’m cold, and you must be too. Come closer and we can keep each other warm.” Ah I see. I do not ever feel cold, but I can see that she is shivering. She has forgotten to pack a blanket, and the campfire is not warm enough to shield her from the cold mountain winds.

I move to her side and lie down, in roosting position, next to her. She puts her arm around me. I am used to her touch now, and I nestle in closer to her. Am I not her phoenix guardian?

For the first time, I notice her sinewy arms and the callouses on her hands.

A soft sigh escapes her lips. “You’re so warm,” she says. “Good night, my friend.”

It has been a long day, and I am exhausted. I close my eyes, and sleep more soundly than I have in a very long time.

* * *

I have completely underestimated her.

I awake just as the sunlight is beginning to illuminate the mountains. I rise to my feet and gingerly extend my wings. As I expected, the pain has subsided to a dull ache, and I feel ready to fly again. I heal faster than ordinary humans, after all.

Then I see Mulan, sword in hand, practising forms I know by heart. _Crane Wading in the Rushes_ morphing into _Two Hares Leaping_ and ending with a perfectly executed _Whirlwind on the Mountain_. _Kingfisher Circles the Pond_ shifting to _Parting the Silk_ and _Dandelions in the Wind_. I watch her as she goes through the motions, each move expertly done with an elegance I have seen in only a handful of swordsmen – and never women. Except myself, of course.

Her face is still as she goes through the moves, but the corners of her lips are upturned in a small, satisfied smile. I know that feeling well – the great satisfaction that comes with mastering a skill so completely, to the point that every move is ingrained in muscle memory. I long to spar with her, to test her skills and push her limits.

But I can see that this is more than just competence, or even mastery. I can sense the raw power in her every move, and feel the unmistakeable pull of her life force, her _qi,_ on mine.

It all makes sense now. That feeling – both strange and familiar – when I first met her. Her nonchalance about joining the army – yes she frets about being outed as a woman, but not once has she expressed fear of dying in battle. A true warrior knows her strength and weaknesses. It seems Mulan is much stronger than I thought. I need more time to observe her, but I can already tell that her _qi_ is strong enough to rival mine – although I doubt she is aware of just how powerful it can be.

I could teach her, of course. I could help her unleash the true power of her _qi_ , which bestows so much more on the wielder than just quick reflexes in martial arts. I have had pupils before, but none with so much raw talent as Mulan. All died terrible deaths, cast out by their families and shunned by society as witches. They all cursed me at the end, blaming me for making monsters out of them. They could not see that society was to blame for ostracising them, for only seeing them as threats rather than as valued individuals, whose powers could be used for the greater good.

But things would be different with Mulan. Together we could build a world where we would no longer have to hide our true selves. Not imposters or outcasts anymore, but equals among men and women.

She notices me watching her, and stops in the middle of _Cherry Blossoms in the Wind_.

“I’m a bit stiff from all the horse-riding, but I think today’s practice has gone well.” She smiles at me. Unable to reply, I merely fixate my gaze on her. She sits next to me, and lays her sword on her lap.

“This sword belongs to my father. He earned it in the last war against the Rourans.” She fingers the blade slowly. I see the characters _Loyal, Brave_ and _True_ inlaid in brilliant gold on the blade. The mark of a master swordsman and soldier of valour.

“I’m unworthy of this sword. I’m living a lie, which I’ll probably take to my grave. I can’t ever be Truthful, so I must hope that my Loyalty and Bravery will more than make up for it.”

This is a good time as any to reveal myself, I thought. I will show her my true self, and persuade her to stop fighting for a society that will never appreciate the true beauty of her talents.

“But you know what, my friend? I’m _happy_. I’ve dreamed of escaping my village for the longest time – seeing the world, fighting for the Emperor, defending my homeland, just like in the stories Father used to tell. My life may be a lie – but at least my life has meaning.” Her face is glowing, suffused with pride.

No, no, no, _no_ – how can this girl be so utterly brainwashed?

“If I die in battle, at least my death wouldn’t have been in vain.”

Oh, you sweet, naïve, silly little girl.

I cannot reveal myself to her just yet. She is too steeped in the norms of the patriarchy and would immediately attempt to cut me down with her sword. I must bide my time, and wait for the inevitable moment when she is cast out by her fellow soldiers once they discover who she really is. This young girl has known nothing but acceptance; she must experience rejection first to see the value of fighting for a just world.

I swallow my disappointment. She scratches my back.

“Let’s get going,” she says.

* * *

On our last morning together, Mulan examines my wing one last time.

“It’s all better, my friend. Your wounds healed much quicker than I expected,” she says. I bow my head, and she laughs.

“Are you thanking me, my friend? Well, it’s been a pleasure having you as a companion. You’re such a good listener – I know it sounds crazy but I’ve never felt more comfortable talking to someone than I have with you.”

I suppose you do not have many friends, Mulan.

“The camp’s over there, so I’m going to leave you here now. Goodbye, hawk – I’ll miss you. I wish I could take you with me. But you will watch over me, won’t you?”

That I can promise you, my friend.

I watch her until she enters the training camp. She looks back occasionally, always smiling at me. When she finally disappears from view, I quickly take flight, back to Bori Khan’s camp. I will have some explaining to do after being gone for so long.

I struggle to sleep that night, regularly waking in fits and starts. But I do not know why.

* * *

My insomnia has persisted, so I have taken to visiting the training camp at night, after the day’s battles are over. Mulan is regularly on guard duty at night, so I perch on a nearby tree where I can watch her.

I do not know when exactly it started. The logical moment would have been when I saw her at sword practice, when I first realised that she and I share a bond deeper than any blood kin. Or maybe it was on our first night together, when I saw her gazing into the flames, lost in thought. Perhaps it was shortly after that, when I nestled by her side, the two of us keeping each other warm as we slept.

I replay the moments of our time together incessantly; it is all I can think about. When laying waste to military outposts, when storming forts with Bori Khan’s men – I do so with mechanical, effortless precision – but my mind is far away, with _her._

Hua Mulan, what have you done to me? I did not think our _qi_ had the power to bewitch others. I know not the spell you have cast on me – but you have ensnared me, well and truly. You do not even know who I am – _who is the deceitful one here?_ – and I have no way of revealing myself to you without you recoiling from me in disgust, for you will shun me as all the others have done.

Every night I turn my hawk’s eyes upon her face, memorising every detail so I may recall it the next day. I always seem to find a new detail I had not noticed before – the slight crook in her nose only visible from her side, a small dimple on her left cheek, the faint dusting of freckles on her forehead.

I entertain myself with the notion that I alone have noticed these details; that I am seeing Mulan as she truly is, as no one else in the world sees her.

* * *

Then one night, she is not there.

Disappointment quickly gives way to worry; has she been taken ill? Injured perhaps?

Stop being such a fool, I tell myself. Most likely it is just someone else’s turn for guard duty.

I decide to inspect the camp, to set my heart at ease. Once again, I sneak into the barracks through the thatched roof, taking care to be quiet as I do not wish for a repeat of my run-in with knife-throwing conscripts. But Mulan is nowhere to be seen.

I leave the barracks and make a circle of the camp, my heart pounding in my ears. Could they have discovered her secret? Has she been expelled from the army?

Finally, I spot her in the lake. I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. Of course! She must have been volunteering for guard duty to avoid the communal showers with the men. I can only imagine that the stench and grime had got so bad that she herself could not take it anymore. I stifle a laugh at the thought.

Then I see she is not alone. She is with a man – are they bathing together? Does he know her secret? Her back is turned to him, so I cannot see her expression – is it one of welcome, of desire – or is she afraid of being discovered? But that makes no sense – how did the two of them end up in the lake in the first place? He has full access to the communal baths, so why would he join her? Are night swims in the lake common among conscripts? No, the only logical explanation is that _she_ must have invited _him_ to join _her_.

I watch the man move closer to her. She still does not turn around. Is she being coy? How did she learn such tricks, this artless girl?

I cannot watch anymore. I do not want to see how this ends, for it would forever ruin my reveries of her – and I want to keep them unsullied, for they are all I have. I tear my eyes away from the lake, and fly back to Bori Khan’s camp.

Tomorrow, I will tell him to prepare for an attack on this camp.

* * *

The attack starts off smoothly; the young, green conscripts are no match for my powers and Bori Khan’s shadow warriors.

As we agreed, Bori Khan fakes a retreat with a small band of warriors, leaving the rest of his army to fight. Naturally, the Imperial Army falls for it, with most of the soldiers giving up on chasing him. To them, there is no honour in retreating from battle. Emboldened by Bori Khan’s cowardice, they abandon the chase to help their comrades defeat the rest of the Rourans.

Except for one soldier.

In hawk form, I follow Mulan as she pursues Bori Khan. But he has too big of a head start, and eventually she loses sight of him. But she rides on. Why does she not turn back? Such a foolhardy girl.

She rides so far that the landscape changes markedly, from rocky mountain passes to frozen pools and fumaroles. She slows down here; she is lost.

This is not how I envisioned our reunion, but it will do. The image of her and that man, frolicking together in the lake, comes unbidden to my mind again. Nothing I do will banish the scene from my mind. That encounter – and what must have come after – has haunted me since that night.

So it must be done. She has bewitched me enough. She has weakened me; turned me into a snivelling shadow of myself. I must break the spell.

I must kill her. This is the only way to release the hold she has on me.

Taking human form, I summon the winds to knock her off her horse. She senses the shift in the air currents moments before the wind’s full force slams into her – and manages to land on her feet, sword already unsheathed. I am impressed.

She levels her sword at me. “You’re a witch,” she says. Coming from her lips, the words sting me as they never have before. So this is who you really are, Hua Mulan. Just the same as all the others, so quick to label those who are different.

“Am I?” I say. “And who are you?”

She pauses; I can see her wavering. “I’m Hua Jun,” she says, her voice tight. “Soldier in the Emperor’s Imperial Army!” She charges at me. _The Boar Rushes Down the Mountain._ I parry with _The Kingfisher Takes a Silverback_ , and catch her in a chokehold. I brush a stray lock of hair from her cheek – it comes naturally to me, for I had done it countless times in many happy reveries, when I thought there was a chance she would accept me.

“Liar,” I hiss. This strikes a nerve, and she savagely lashes out, sword forms momentarily forgotten. I blast her out of the way. She charges at me again, with a ferocity that catches me by surprise. _Striking the Spark._ Her blade scratches the palm of my hand, blood oozing out slowly. She looks satisfied.

Enough playing around. I must cast off the invisible shackles she has chained on me. My flying star knocks her sword out of her grasp and over an expanse of ice. She chases after it, the ice cracking beneath her feet.

“I ask again,” I say. “Who are you?” I know this will hurt her more than any wound.

Her arms tremble as she points her sword at me. “I’m Hua Jun, soldier in the Emperor’s Imperial Army!” Bad liars always repeat the same phrases, for their deceit weighs on them too much.

“Then you will die, pretending to be something you are not!”

I regret as soon as the flying star leaves my hand. But my aim is too sure – the weapon strikes Mulan squarely in the chest, and she collapses.

The spell is not broken. The chains do not slacken, but bind ever tighter around my heart, crushing harder until I cry out in pain.

I stumble over and cradle her in my arms. “No,” I say, my breath coming in shuddering gasps. “I lost my mind…”

The veil of madness is ripped from my eyes, and I see reality clearly for the first time. What delusion had clouded my mind? That she could never be mine, so I must eliminate her to end my pain?

Looking down on her now, I realise what my heart has known all along – I cannot live if she is not in this world.

My hand closes around the accursed weapon. I expect my fingers to be damp from blood, but they come up dry. Startled, I pull out the star – and I cannot help the tears from pricking my eyes now, so relieved am I – it had struck the wooden binders she used to bind her breasts. Her deception has saved her life from my impetuous stupidity.

I do not believe in gods, but I thank Fortune, Fate, her phoenix guardian – whoever is responsible for saving her. For giving her – and me – another chance.

I can feel her life force now, somewhat weakened but stable. I place my hands on her chest and heal her as best as I can. She will come round soon.

She looks so peaceful now, her breathing slow and even. I must leave before she wakes, but I am loath to do so. I cup her face in my hands and place my lips on her forehead, trying to memorise everything about this moment – the softness of her skin, the colour slowly returning to her cheeks, the scent of her hair. Finally I release her, and set her gently on the ground.

“Forgive me, Mulan,” I say, my voice cracking. I could not think of what to say. “I am a selfish fool. You – you do not know me, and perhaps it is better this way. But I know you – know all about you, and I thought that was enough to make you mine.”

I pause, blinking back my tears. It feels ridiculous to speak to an unconscious person this way, but it is the least foolish thing I have done today.

“I feel – drawn – to you.” Even in her weakened state, her _qi_ calls to me. I struggle to resist its call. I do not know what it wants – all I know is I never want to leave her side.

“You have so much power. So much potential. It pains me that you have to hide it so.”

It takes every inch of willpower to tear myself away.

“I will always watch over you, Hua Mulan,” I say. And before I could convince myself otherwise, I assume my hawk’s form, and fly back to the battlefield.

* * *

I throw myself into the battle, channelling my emotions – which I could not even begin to comprehend – into tearing down the Imperial Army. Men fall before me; most just choose to flee.

And then I see her: she comes charging down the mountain, a blaze of red, long hair streaming in the wind. No longer shackled by armour, she is a whirlwind on the battlefield, cutting down the Rourans as though they were leaves of grass.

I have never seen anyone so beautiful before.

I long to fight alongside her, but I have a job to finish. I split myself into hundreds of birds and swarm around the troops, who instantly cluster together, raising their shields in a fish scale formation. They are easy pickings for the Rouran catapults.

The avalanche takes me by surprise, but I know when to fight and when to flee. I fly away before the deluge of snow sweeps the Rourans away. I know she was behind it, and the thought of her outwitting the Rourans gives me great satisfaction.

A part of me had hoped that things would be different for her. That her comrades would welcome her with gratitude, for she had saved them all. But some things never change. I watch her kneel before her commanding officer, watch her bow her head in shame as he casts her out in disgrace. And suddenly I am sixteen again, kneeling before my village chief as he banishes me from my home forever. The last thing I see is my parents turning their stony faces away from me, their silence deafening.

I want to run to her, to take her in my arms as I blast the ungrateful fools into oblivion. But I hold back, for I know this is her turning point. I will meet her later, and together we will change the world.

* * *

I find her on a rocky mountain ridge, on her knees as though still bowing in contrition, fighting back sobs. I come to her as a hawk, swooping down beside her. She smiles at me, and my heart feels lighter.

“My friend – you came back,” she whispers.

I assume my true form. She gasps – then scrambles to her feet, unsheathing her sword.

“It’s you,” she says. Her voice quivers. “You – you tried to kill me-“

“I am sorry,” I say, but cannot bring myself to say any more. Her face is unreadable.

“You can never go home,” I continue. She raises her sword, ready to charge at me.

“I understand. I was a girl like you when people turned on me.” I approach her, and run my fingers along her blade.

“You don’t think I longed for a noble path? I have lived a life of exile. No country, no village, no family.” She lowers her sword.

“We are the same,” I say.

Her eyes harden. “We’re not.”

“We are. The more power I showed, the more I was crushed. Just like you. You saved them today, and still they turned on you. You’re just at the beginning of your power.”

I grip her shoulder, feeling the pull of her _qi_ on mine. She must feel the same.

“Merge your path with mine. We will be stronger together.”

She instantly backs away. “You follow a coward. A leader who runs from battle-“

“Bori Khan did not run from battle. The coward will take the Imperial City, and your emperor will fall.”

“That can’t happen.”

“But it happens even now.” I am very close to her now. I tuck a lock of hair behind her ears, as I have so often done in my dreams. My fingers linger on her shoulders, as I summon the courage to tell her my deepest desire.

“Join me,” I say. “We will take our place together.”

She says nothing as she holds my gaze for what seems like an eternity. I can tell she is contemplating it, which is more than I thought she would do.

She takes a deep, shaky breath. “I know my place,” she says. My heart sinks. “And it is my duty to fight for the kingdom and protect the Emperor.” She turns to go.

“I know you,” I say. She stops in her tracks. “This was your dream. To see the world, fight for the Emperor, defend your homeland. Why should you be prevented from following your dreams just because you are a girl? We must change this, you and I. For us, and for the generations that come after.”

She does not turn around. “I thought you were my phoenix guardian,” she says. The sword in her hand trembles. “I thought you would watch over me. But you tried to kill me.”

“You have no idea how much I regret that now,” I reply.

She turns around. Her eyes glisten with tears. “Why?”

The question I was dreading. How could I explain to her that it was just a horrible, horrible act of madness, borne out of my wild delusions?

“I cannot explain,” I say at last. “But I promise you – no matter what you choose – I will always protect you, my friend.”

She turns back and rides away.

* * *

I follow her at a distance, watching her as she warns her comrades, then rides with them to the Imperial City.

I am stunned that the men listen to her. Her naïve faith in them turns out to be correct. Truly she is greater than I ever was, or ever could be. Or is trust a two-way relationship? Does her faith in them strengthen their trust in her? I would not know – I have never trusted anyone. One avoids disappointments that way.

She storms into the throne room, but she is too late.

“Your Majesty, I’m Hua Mulan from the Fifth Battalion. I’ve come to protect you.”

I rise from the throne, where I have been waiting for her. “Impossible,” I say. “A woman, leading a man’s army.”

She looks up in shock, and rises to her feet. “Where’s the Emperor?” she demands. I do not reply.

She approaches the throne slowly. “You were right,” she says. “We are the same.”

“With one difference,” I interject. “They accept you, but they will never accept me.”

“You told me my journey was impossible. Yet here I stand. Proof that there is a place for people like us.” She holds her head high, and her cheeks are glowing.

“No,” I whisper. “It is too late for me.”

“You can still take the noble path. It’s not too late.” She locks her gaze with mine. “Please. I need your help. Where’s the Emperor?”

I cannot look away. Suddenly everything becomes clear to me, and the last vestiges of my fever-dream, my unrequited fantasy, fade away.

She is so close to achieving her dream. I cannot stand in her way. All I want is her happiness.

In hawk’s form, I guide her towards the new palace where the emperor is being held. I find Bori Khan standing before the emperor, preparing to smite him down.

“Why are you here?” he growls.

“The attack has met a fierce resistance,” I say, unable to keep the delight out of my voice.

“From who?”

“A young woman, from a small village.”

He sniggers. “A girl.”

“A woman. A warrior.” I never thought I would ever say those words. “A woman leads the army. And she’s no scorned dog.”

Understanding dawns on Bori Khan’s face. “You led her here,” he snarls. I smile, exultant.

He nocks an arrow to his bow and takes aim at me. So this is how I will die. Well, so be it then. It will be worth it.

I realise his true target a split second after the arrow leaves his bow. _No!_

I swore that I would always protect her. And – I know I cannot live in a world without her.

This is not how I thought I would die, but I could not have asked for a better death.

I take flight and chase after the arrow. It pierces my chest, and I fall to the ground.

She catches me. The shock of the impact causes me to revert to my human form, and I lie in her arms.

I look up at her, but my vision is blurry. Or are those tears in her eyes?

“No,” she whispers. “Not this. Please, no – I’m so sorry-“

I smile at her. In my reveries I have often dreamt of lying in Mulan’s arms like this, on a lazy summer’s evening. She would hold my hand – yes, as she is now – and we would stay like that, in silence, as we listen to the crickets chirping and the evening birdsong. There would be no need for words, for we each know the other as we know ourselves.

I want this moment to last forever.

But I can feel my life force ebbing away from me. It is a curious, peaceful feeling.

There is something I desperately want to tell her, before I go. But I do not want to burden her with it for the rest of her life. She must find her own path and her own happiness. My story must end here. I must let her go.

Instead, I say to her, “Take your place, Mulan.”

She caresses my cheek, as gentle as when she tended to my wings, the day we first met. Her lips part slightly, as though she wants to say something – but she hesitates.

Instead, she kisses my forehead, and I know this is goodbye. I close my eyes.

* * *

It is dark when I wake again. My head feels as though it is stuffed with wool, and my chest aches. I blink slowly, wondering where I am and how I got here.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I notice a figure sitting next to me. I turn my head to get a better look, and the person quickly jumps to her feet.

“You’re – you’re awake! Let me call the doctor.” Perhaps it is my addled state of mind, but hearing Mulan’s voice makes me stupidly happy.

The memory of my last moments awake comes back to me. I am not dead after all. The arrow must have missed my heart. I can hardly believe it. Just as when Mulan’s binders had stopped my flying star, I feel that Fortune has given me yet another chance.

Mulan returns with a man dressed in the robes of an imperial doctor. Am I in the _palace_?

Mulan lights a candle, and the doctor proceeds to examine me. “She woke just a few minutes ago,” Mulan says.

“She’s making excellent progress,” the doctor says. “Her strong _qi_ helps, but it’s still a miracle she has recovered so quickly. A few more weeks of rest and she will be fine.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Mulan shuts the door after him. She approaches the bed and sits next to me. The silence feels awkward. She looks down at her hands, chewing her lip.

“Where am I?” I ask.

“In the Imperial Palace.” She looks relieved that the silence is finally broken. “You’ve been here for a month now. We brought you back after we saved the Emperor.”

“The Emperor allowed a _witch_ to stay in the palace?”

“Well, you helped save his life.” Mulan smiles at me. “By saving mine.”

“I promised I would always protect you.”

Colour slowly blooms on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she says. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Consider it atonement for trying to kill you,” I say. She laughs, but a shadow crosses her face. I wish I had not brought it up.

I notice she is wearing robes of the Imperial Guard. So they have completely accepted her. She has achieved her dreams at last. I am so proud, but regretful at the same time. She will stay here, but the palace is no place for me.

“I-I still don’t know your name,” she says. “I don’t know anything about you, actually.”

I am stunned, but it is true. I know so much about her, but I have told her nothing of myself.

“I am Xian Lang.” That is not the name my parents gave me, but the one I gave myself, the day I was cast out of my home.

“Xian Lang,” she repeats softly. “I want to know more about you. Where you come from. How you learnt to master your _qi._ The lands you’ve seen and the people you’ve met. Tell me your story.”

I laugh. “It is not such an interesting tale,” I say. “But yes, I will tell you. Not tonight – I am getting tired. Come tomorrow, and we shall talk more then.”

* * *

She visits me every evening after her guard duties, and I tell her my story. My childhood growing up in a village near Chang’an, one of the last outposts on the Silk Road. How a trader from Samarkand was the first to spot my gift, and taught me how to harness _qi_ to obtain mastery over the elements. How I was banished from my village for ‘witchcraft’, after I saved the life of the village chief’s daughter, a girl I loved. My years of traversing the Silk Road with the Samarkand traders who had no qualms about my powers; the closest I had ever come to being accepted for who I am. Then years spent as a mercenary, fighting for whichever king or usurper bid the highest price.

I like to think she enjoys my tales; not all are tragic, and I try to keep the self-pity and bitterness at bay. As the days pass, we grow more comfortable with each other, and often she would react to a funny story with peals of most unladylike laughter, or harrumph with indignation if someone had done me an injustice.

“Teach me to wield _qi_ ,” she says one day. “Show me how to fly.”

By this time I am almost fully recovered, and my thoughts often turn to what I should do next. I do not want to leave, and the Emperor’s courtiers (who often visit me out of curiosity) have never once hinted that his hospitality is wearing thin. Still, I do not wish to overstay my welcome. I am a _witch,_ after all.

“That is dangerous,” I reply. “They will call you a witch. They will throw you out.”

“They already know what I am,” she says. “I could use it to defend the Emperor. It would be for the good of the empire.”

I am not so sure the Emperor – or his heirs after him – would want to have a woman who could smite him down with a flick of her wrist so close to him. But she is insistent, and I finally relent, although I make her swear to keep this a secret.

* * *

She is a quick study – rather than teaching her, I am merely helping her lift the invisible barriers her mind has placed around her power, showing her what is truly possible.

The day she first succeeds in morphing into a bird, we fly north, revisiting the lands where the imperial army fought Bori Khan. Two months on, the land still bears the scars of war, but in some places farmers have started to till the land again, and the terrain is interspersed with neat green squares of young wheat shoots.

We fly and fly – she just does not want to stop – until we reach a familiar-looking mountain pass. Here she lands, transforming back into human form, the picture of exhilaration.

“That was amazing,” she says breathlessly. “I’ve never felt so free.”

The landscape is disconcertingly familiar. The fumaroles shoot up acrid sulphureous steam, and the ice cracks beneath my feet.

“Why did you come here?” I ask. I feel the chains around my heart tighten, and long to fly away from here, as fast as I can.

She stands before me, her expression unreadable. Her eyes are very bright.

“There is something I have to know,” she says. “Why did you try to kill me?”

Not again, I groan inwardly. All I want is to forget the horror of my foolish, selfish, impetuous mistake.

“We were on opposing sides of the war,” I say. “Of course I tried to kill you.”

“You could have killed me anytime when we were travelling together, on the way to camp,” she shoots back.

“You were just a conscript then. I thought you were harmless.”

“You could sense my _qi_ even then. You knew my power.”

I am at a loss now; I simply do not know what to say. Telling her the truth would involve confessing something else – something I cannot burden her with.

“It is illogical,” she says quietly. “It is the one thing I cannot reconcile, after all you have told me, after all I have learnt from you. Tell me why, Xian Lang, and I promise we will never speak of this again.”

I take a deep, shuddering breath. I have taught her all that I know now. There is no more reason for me to stay with her. I can go.

But I want her to know. Let me tell her, and then I will go. She can forget this ever happened, and go back to her life in the palace. But at least I can die unburdened.

“I – was in the grip of a delusion,” I say. I cannot look at her; I cannot bear the shame. “I saw you – bathing in a lake, with a man. I thought you invited him – maybe you did. I thought that meant – that you could never be mine.” My eyes are fixated on the ice; it sparkles in my eyes.

“I was desperate to break the hold you had on me. All I could think about was you – and I could never have you. So I tried to kill you, to break the spell.”

I force myself to look at her; her face is crimson.

“I love you, Mulan. I have loved you since the day we met. I am sorry to burden you with this, and I know you can never forgive me. I will go now, and you can forget any of this ever happened-“

-Her arms are wrapped around me; she buries her head in my chest, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Oh heavens,” she says between gasps. “I didn’t expect that!” She looks up at me, one hand caressing my cheek. I can see two bright stars in her eyes.

“You saw wrong,” she whispers. “Hong Hui ran into me while I was bathing and wanted to join me. I was terrified; I told him to leave. He’s a friend, nothing more.”

I pull her tighter in my embrace. My heart is full to bursting, yet it feels so much lighter now. Can one feel both unbridled joy and mortification at the same time?

“Your phoenix guardian must have saved you that day,” I say. “She gave me a second chance. If you had died, I – I-“

I am at a loss for words, but it does not matter – she presses her soft lips to mine, fingers gently cupping my face; they feel cool against my cheeks, which are on fire. The world goes quiet, which I do not expect; in all my dreams of this moment, all I could hear was the roar of blood pounding in my ears. But now I am utterly overwhelmed by _her_ – the sweet taste of her tongue, the smoothness of her cheeks, now a dusky pink; the comforting warmth of her body, pressed so hard against mine; the intoxicating scent of her hair.

It is completely unlike how I dreamed it would be, and yet I cannot imagine it any other way.

She rests her head on my chest, her fingers entwined with mine.

“I love you too,” she whispers, and my heart explodes.

“I want to see the world with you. I can fly anywhere now; I am free. Show me the lands in your stories, and let’s explore new ones too.”

Did I hear her right? She wants to – _leave?_

“You would leave the Emperor’s Guard? Was that not your greatest dream? To fight for the Emperor and defend your homeland?”

Her fingers tighten around mine. “I also want to see the world,” she says. “And dreams change. I want to be with you, Xian Lang. You alone can truly accept me for who I am.”

Yes, that I know for sure. She is no outcast, but she will always be playing a part with other people – the loyal, brave soldier. Her true self is mine alone, just as my heart will always belong to her.

I pull her in for another kiss. Of course I would go with her. I would follow her to the edge of the world. “Yes, let’s go, Mulan,” I whisper. “There is so much of the world to see.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!  
> \- I apologise for butchering the concept of qi even more than Disney did. I know it’s not supposed to be some Jedi Force thingy, but Disney’s version of qi actually turned out to be a useful plot device – so I just ran with it. Sorry to all the qi purists out there.  
> \- I incorporated some scenes from the movie (including the dialogue) in the story on purpose. Those are all copyrights of Disney of course. Basically I’ve got my reality distortion goggles on, and I’m going to pretend that this story is the real plot of the Mulan movie, la-dee-da-dee-da.  
> \- All the sword forms mentioned in the story are borrowed from Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series.


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